Club Rouge
by Evanne Martine Hall
Summary: What might have happened if Christian and Satine lived today. Chap. 10 and 11 are mostly fluff, but kind of fluff with a plot. Thanks so much to my reviewers! Love ya bunches! Kisses, Evie (please R&R!)
1. The Interview

Christian slammed his car door. He thought he heard a chunk of paint fall off of it somewhere, but he didn't care. His eyes looked up, and up, and up, until he almost fell over. Okay, so maybe the building wasn't that tall, but it was pretty damn tall. He straightened his tie. The sign out front had said, "Writers Wanted," so he took advantage. He clutched his portfolio tighter as he climbed up onto the curb . . . and tripped and fell flat on his face. Shit. Was anyone looking? No. Was he bleeding? A quick inspection told him no to that one, too. Okay, breathe, look at ground while walking, wet mouth with spittle, he told himself as he walked toward the building.  
  
The revolving doors were a bit sticky, like a can of WD-40 wouldn't hurt, but he pushed his way through without much trouble. He walked right up to the desk and said, "I'm Christian Londen. I'm here to apply for the writing postition." The man at the desk looked at him strangely. After getting no response, he just shrugged and punched in a number on the telephone.  
  
"Yes, Mister Zibler," he said with a Spanish accent, "I have a young Mister Londen here to apply for the job . . . yes, I'll send him up." He hung up the phone and pointed to a stairwell.  
  
"Forty-second floor, turn left, six doors down on the left. It'll say Zibler." Christian gaped at him.  
  
"There's no elevator?" he asked. The Argentinean laughed.  
  
"Sure, if you trust it. It's just around the cor- . . ." He never finished his sentence. His eyes crossed, rolled back into his head, and he collapsed forward onto his desk. Christian looked around. Geez, he thought, did I kill him? He picked up his wrist and let it slam on the desk. There seemed to be a pulse. He whispered, "Sorry," then continued on his way to the elevator.  
  
"Does anybody use this thing?" he asked out loud as it clicked and creaked its way to the forty-second floor. He straightened his tie again and switched his portfolio to the other hand, so it wouldn't be wet with sweat when he showed it to this Zibler person. He checked his watch. It was about six o'clock in the evening. Not that he had anywhere to be, he just liked to know what time it was.  
  
The elevator dinged, then took a few seconds to open when he at last reached the forty-second floor. He turned left, walked a few doors down, then saw it. A door labeled, "Harold M. Zibler, Producer." He knocked lightly, and a voice barked from within.  
  
"Londen?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Christian said, a little shaken.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Christian opened the door, stepped inside, then closed it behind him. He turned to face the producer, when he saw a small man sitting in the chair in front of the desk.  
  
"Just a minute, Londen," Zibler said, "Anyway, Henri, there's not much I can do. Audition with the rest of them, or help me produce. I can't really let you do both - not on our budget."  
  
Henri nodded and answered with a thick lisp, "I thuppothe you'w wight. I can't vewy weww do two jobth, can I? Thank you fow theeing me about it, though."  
  
"Don't mention it. Now get out of my sight."  
  
Henri stood and hurried past Christian and out of the office. Christian turned to Zibler. Zibler was staring at him.  
  
"So you're a writer, huh?" he said. He gestured to the chair the midget had just vacated. Christian sat. Zibler offered him a mint, and Christian accepted gratefully. All the moisture from his mouth seemed to have gone into his hands. He nodded, and held out his portfolio. Zibler took it and thumbed through it.  
  
"Sounds intriguing," he said, throwing the portfolio onto his desk as if it were a dirty tissue. He leaned onto his desk and looked hard at Christian. "Look," he said, "I'm sure you've got lots of comedy, tragedy, film, stage, whatever shit in that thing. I could spend days reading it and come back to you with an answer in a week. But, hell, Chris, I'm not that kind of guy. I'm a balls-not-brains guy. So, here's the story. I've been through eight damned writers in the past three months, and two and a half complete casts in that span of time. I'm not going to waste my time on another fucker who thinks he's gonna make it with the same sappy shit that I see all the time. You got balls? Show it."  
  
Christian looked shocked. Was he listening to this from a big-time producer? He decided to stick it out and see what this guy was really all about. "How? How do I show it?"  
  
Zibler smiled. "Satine," he said, "The star, the 'Sparkling Diamond,' if you will. You go to her with your style, and have a little bit of an audition."  
  
Christian gulped. He was more nervous than ever.  
  
"When do I do this?" he asked thickly.  
  
"Tonight. Come to the Club Rouge tonight. She performs there. I'll arrange a meeting after her number so you can discuss this with her. Oh, another thing. There's this millionaire coming to see if he'll fund our show. Don't interfere. Have a good day."  
  
Christian stood up and left. He headed back to the elevator and pressed the down button. When it arrived, he got on, but was delayed by a lisp, "Pweese, hold the doow!" Henri stepped onto the elevator and Christian pressed the button for the ground floor.  
  
As the elevator clicked its way down, Henri turned to Christian and smiled. "So you'w the new witew? I'm Henwi Mawie Waymond Toulouse-Lautwec Monfaw, but it's just Henwi, if you pweese." The midget extended a hand. Christian shook it. "I'm Christian Londen. You can call me Chris, Christian, Londen, whatever. I don't care."  
  
"So you'w going to Club Wouge tonight? Have you evew been?"  
  
Christian shook his head.  
  
"You need to come with me. You'll need a little, bweefing."  
  
An hour later Christian was standing in Henri's apartment, looking at himself in a mirror. He was wearing a dark blue suit with tails, shiny black shoes, and even a silk top hat. He was a bit confused, but he went along.  
  
"Twutht me," Henri said, "I go aww the time. You wook pewfect."  
  
The next thing he new, Christian was standing in the middle of a dance floor made to look exactly like a 19th century dance hall. He could have sworn it matched the drawings of the Moulin Rouge in Paris he'd seen once in an art museum. He hurried across the floor filled with women scantily clad and men in top hats and tails just like him dancing in the errotic style . . . of the 1800s?  
  
Just as Christian had sat down in the balcony, Harold Zibler appeared above the curtain-covered stage. He yelled into his microphone, "Can you cancan?"  
  
The people on the floor replied "Yes we can cancan!"  
  
"Can you can?"  
  
"Yes we can!"  
  
"Can you can?!"  
  
"Yes we can!"  
  
"Then it's . . . the cancan!"  
  
The dancers cleared the floor as the female dancers picked up their skirts, and "Because we Can" by Fatboy Slim blasted from the speakers.  
  
"What is this place?" Christian asked Henri.  
  
"A wecweational . . . club. Based entiwely on the Moulin Wouge. Intewesting, isn't it?"  
  
Interesting wasn't exactly the word Christian would have chosen. More like . . . permiscuous?  
  
Just then, the pulsing music stopped, and the audience fell silent. A swing had dropped from the ceiling, and sitting in it was the most beautiful woman Christian had ever seen.  
  
She was Satine.  
  
  
  
**************************************************************************** ******  
  
I don't own the characters. Sniff, tear. I wish I owned Christian, but I don't. The story, however, is mine. Anyway, this is my first present-day Moulin fic, so I hope you've liked it so far. Please review it, you don't know just how much I love those things! If you review it, I'll do the same for you, so please, review this little thing! Thanks! Chapter two . . . Christian and Satine meet . . . . *gasp* Sparks may fly! 


	2. In the Red Room

"New York's the place where dreams are born," she sang, "But I never put much stock in that. I'll never put my money where my mouth is, 'cause I don't have enough of that. But . . ." Her swing began to make large circles over the gaping crowd. The tempo of the music picked up, and as she got off her swing she began to sing, "I've got rhythm, I've got music, I've got cute men who could ask for anything more?" She was flirting with the men on the floor. "I've got daisies in green pastures, I've got rich men who could ask for anything more?" She circled her way around the floor, a trail of men behind her. Christian watched wide-eyed. "Old man trouble, ooh!" she sang as several of her entourage picked her up, "I don't mind him whenever I find him stalking 'round my door." By this time Zibler had joined her on the stage. "I've got rhythm, I've got music, I've got this man," she placed her fingertips on his chest flirtatiously, "Who could ask for anything more?"  
  
Suddenly, a curtain fell from the ceiling, forming a circle around Zibler and Satine. They both slipped through a trapdoor in the floor. As they hurried along underneath the floor, listening to the cheers of the people, Satine asked, "Is he here, Harry?"  
  
"Who, my sweet?" he asked in return, handing her the costume she was to change into. She changed as they walked.  
  
"Mister, oh, what's-his-name? You know, the investor."  
  
"Oh, Mister Eivel Duke, of course!"  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
They paused near a crack in the wood paneling of a wall, peeking through. Zibler looked around, then found him . . . in the booth next to Christian.  
  
"There he is, darling."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"The one that has just removed his hat."  
  
As fate would have it, Duke had just replaced his hat, and Christian had removed his.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Harold peeked through, and the men had switched hat positions. "That's the one, chick pea!"  
  
"Ooh!" Satine exclaimed, hurrying to the door that the two would be entering through in a moment. Just as they reached it, the music came to their entrance point.  
  
Satine burst through the door as the curtain was raised in the center of the floor where they had just been. Zibler was not far behind. "I've got rhythm, music, men, who could ask . . ." she was crossing a bridge high above the audience, walking straight to the booths across the way, "For . . . anything . . . more?" She held the last note, swinging around the pole separating the millionaire's booth and Christian's. She landed with a skid . . . right in front of Christian.  
  
"I believe you were expecting me," she said.  
  
"Hell yes," he said, breathless.  
  
Satine raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps we could go somewhere . . . a bit more peaceful?"  
  
Christian could do nothing but nod. Satine took his hand and led him away. A spotlight followed them until they were out of the door. Duke was absorbed in his daiquiris, too distracted to notice them leaving, and Zibler had returned to entertaining his audience.  
  
The audience's applause followed them as they made their way up several flights stairs to a room marked "712, Red Room." Satine smiled at Christian as she unlocked and opened the door.  
  
Stepping inside the room was like walking into India. It was decorated with elephants and other Indian relics. The balcony was even shaped like an elephant's head. Christian looked around as Satine slipped behind him, removed her dress and remained in skimpy lingerie.  
  
"Oh!" Christian exclaimed. Satine lay down on the bed.  
  
"Why don't you come here and we'll . . . discuss things." She smiled seductively. Christian looked nervous.  
  
"Well, I . . . um . . . well, perhaps if I stood?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I mean, you can sit there, I just . . . I feel more comfortable doing it when I'm standing."  
  
Satine looked intrigued. "Well, why don't we . . . get on with it?"  
  
Christian smiled briefly, then turned to face the other wall. Why was he so nervous? He took a deep breath then turned to face her. She was lying in a different position, waiting. What was she doing? He cleared his throat, but no words came out.  
  
"The . . . sky, is . . . Trees . . . blue . . . birds?" he turned back around. Satine was rolling around on the bed. She sat up and asked, "Is anything the matter?"  
  
Christian shook his head and cleared his throat again. Think, Londen, think, he told himself, just searching for something. Finally his mind rested on something.  
  
"I can't stand to fly, no I'm not that naive," he sang in his sweet, tenor voice, "I'm just out to find the better part of me. 'Cause you'll sing on the street, you'll dance in the rain, you'll be more than some pretty face beside a train, and it's not easy to be me."  
  
Satine was shocked. Was this really the millionaire that she was to seduce and persuade to invest? He was so . . . wonderful. He walked toward her and took her hand. He looked deep into her blue eyes as she looked in his.  
  
"I wish that I could cry and fall upon my knees. Wish I could find a way to lie about a love that will never be. It may sound absurd, but don't be naive, 'cause even lovers have the right to bleed. I may be disturbed, but won't you concede that especially lovers have the right to dream. It's not easy to be me."  
  
He spun her around in circles and led her onto the balcony. It seemed as though they were dancing right across the sky.  
  
"Up, up and away - away from me. It's all right, you can just sleep sound tonight 'cause I'm not crazy or anything . . ."  
  
They danced around in each other's arms for a moment, then they stopped at looked at each other again. Christian continued to sing.  
  
"I can't stand to fly, no I'm not that naive, 'cause men weren't meant to ride with clouds between their knees. I'm only a man with a silly red sheet searching for the perfect love on this one way street. I'm only a man with a funny red sheet looking for special things inside of me, and it's not easy to be me."  
  
He spun her into his arms again, singing, "No it's not easy to be me." Satine gazed into his eyes.  
  
"I can't believe it," she breathed, "I'm in love! I'm in love with a sweet, handsome, charming, talented millionaire."  
  
"Millionaire?" Christian asked.  
  
"Not that the money's important of course," she recovered. Best not to make him feel pressured.  
  
"I'm not a millionaire."  
  
Satine lost the dreamy look immediately. "Not a millionaire?" she asked, pushing away from him.  
  
"Well, no, I thought you knew . . . I'm a writer."  
  
"A WRITER!?" she exclaimed, "Not Christian Londen, the remarkably talented, no-balls, backwoods writer that's auditioning tonight?"  
  
"You might say that, yes."  
  
"NO!" she screamed. "But the millionaire . . ." she opened the door behind her, seeing Mister Eivel Duke. "The millionaire! Mister Duke is here, you have to leave. The balcony!"  
  
Christian quickly hid behind an enormous elephant. Satine opened the door a crack. Duke turned to face her.  
  
"Ah, my sweet, dear, beautiful Satine. Would you be so obliged as to let me in?" he asked in a nasally kind of voice. Christian, standing behind the elephant, childishly mocked Duke's words. He felt a bit of . . . jealousy? Oh, well, it had passed. But, no, there it was again. Satine had spoken again.  
  
"My dear Mister Duke, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I feel I have a touch of a cold, or perhaps . . . mononucleosis. Please, you'll have to return another time."  
  
"But I . . ." Satine was already shutting the door.  
  
"Goodnight, Mister Duke." She closed and locked the heavy wood door. Christian peeked out from behind the elephant.  
  
"What are you doing? Do you know what would have happened if he had caught you? We would both be killed! Dead, done, gone, no more show, career, nothing! He's done it before! Now leave before he gets back and finds you! Use the side stairs." She ushered him to another door, smaller, less decorative, and a little to the right of the center of the room. She pulled open the door and began to push him through it, when suddenly, Satine began to sway and her eyes rolled back in her head. She fell into Christian's startled arms.  
  
"Satine?" he asked, trying to revive her, "Satine?" After a few moments of useless attempts to bring her back to consciousness, he gently laid her on the bed. He stood and watched her for a while, until he was sure she was all right. Before knowing what he was doing, he bent down and kissed her forehead. He smiled, then left through the door.  
  
He quickly found Henri, waiting for him downstairs in the lobby. The midget skipped to keep up with him as Christian strode out of the door to find his car. Henri asked, "Did you get the job?" Christian smiled, whipped his hat back onto his head, and glanced up at the elephant balcony on the seventh floor. He could see her, awake now, standing on the balcony, leaning out and looking at the stars. He smiled more broadly. "Yes, Henri, I think I did."  
  
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Hey, guys, you know the drill. I don't own Moulin Rouge or its characters. The story idea belongs to Baz and Craig, I just tweaked it a little. Didn't you guys like the whole period club thing? I thought it was kind of funny, mostly because I couldn't think of anything else. Hahaha. Anyway, please give me your thoughts.  
  
Songs used:  
  
*I've Got Rhythm - from a Broadway play, can't remember which one  
  
*Superman - Five for Fighting (I changed it a bit. I love that song!) 


	3. Romeo Montague

Christian pushed himself back from his keyboard. The computer screen stared blankly back at him. No words. None. He had tried to clear his mind and just write what he thought, but what went across the screen was:  
  
satinesatinesatinesatinesatinesatinesatinesatinesatinesatinesatinesatinesati nesatinesatinesatine . . .  
  
He stood up. Maybe some fresh air would help him to write the first act that Zibler had just called to tell him he had to write for rehearsal the following morning. It was 12:02 in the morning, and he hadn't written a single word.  
  
The air outside felt harsh and chill, strange for a mid-June night in New York. The lights from Times Square were visible even from six blocks away, which happened to be where Christian was living. The Empire State Building's spire looked like a lighted beacon in the distance. This was nothing like he thought New York would be. He lit a cigarette from his pocket and took a long drag. He had tried to quit, but he looked on it as the only thing that made him tough enough to be a scriptwriter. Now, he needed that nicotine more than ever. His palms began to sweat just at the thought of her. Elton John's "Your Song" was drifting up to him from a radio somewhere. He sang along quietly.  
  
"How wonderful life is now you're in the world." He took another drag. This was stupid. She's a showgirl and a hooker. She was just acting. She's not in love with you. He told himself these things over and over. Then, the look on her face while he was singing came into his mind. That was no act. That was pure, simple adoration. She had fallen for him in some way, somehow. He had to go see her again.  
  
He flicked his cigarette off the balcony, put on a coat and jogged out to his car in the parking lot. He jumped in, turned on the radio, and sped down the nearly abandoned streets of NYC. "All You Need is Love" was blaring on his car radio, and he yelled along as he took a joyride in his pajamas.  
  
Finally, he ended up back at the Club Rouge. Christian saw her just where she had been when he left her. He was debating how to get to her. His eyes fell upon a nice-looking drainpipe that ran alongside her apartment. Pull a Romeo? he asked himself. Definitely.  
  
So, still in pajamas and house shoes, Christian Londen found himself climbing seven stories of brick building with a flashing neon windmill on the side by a drainpipe, trying to reach a hooker in an apartment with a balcony shaped like an elephant. Talk about bizarre. But, hey, this was New York!  
  
Hey, he thought, glancing down, I'm Spiderman! He laughed at himself, nearly falling off and meeting his death on the pavement. He checked the balcony. She had gone inside. Great. He kept climbing, however, because it was either get to an empty balcony or plunge to a painful end on the pavement below. Empty balcony, here I come, he thought.  
  
Just as he reached the elephant (not without any kind of physical struggle at all, of course) Satine decided to come out. She screamed, nearly knocking Christian from his perch - hanging precariously off the edge of the elephant's ear.  
  
"No, no, please wait," he said, trying to grab a firmer grip on the - dear, Lord, what is this thing made out of? - ear. Satine cautiously poked her head out from inside.  
  
"Christian?" she asked. He nodded. She sighed. "For a minute I thought you were some creep trying to get a free night. Why didn't you just use the stairs? Oh, well, never mind, you're in your pajamas. Come in for some tea or something." She turned and went back inside. Christian fell a little further down.  
  
"Help, please?" he choked, nearly losing his grip again. Satine dashed back out of the room. "Oh!" she exclaimed, grabbing Christian by the elbows and pulling him over the wall. He landed with a thud on the ground, and Satine collapsed into a chair.  
  
"Why were you climbing the balcony?" she asked, bringing him a cup of tea. Christian lowered his head and rubbed his bruises. He was avoiding her eyes.  
  
"What?" She laughed. Christian pushed himself up. He winced.  
  
"Oh, don't, here, let me help." She pulled him up off the ground and helped him limp into a chaise lounge in a corner of the balcony. After he had sipped his tea and relaxed for a moment, she asked him again. "Why were you climbing my balcony in the middle of the night, Christian?"  
  
Christian looked at his feet. "Promise you won't laugh?" he asked. She nodded. "All right, here goes. I was wondering about the whole thing earlier this evening, with the song, and when . . . when you said you loved me. And I was just wondering if it was an act, so, bright guy that I am, I decided to . . . well, pull a Romeo Montague and climb onto your balcony." He avoided her eyes. But, to his surprise, Satine smiled.  
  
"You wanted to know if it was an act?" she asked.  
  
"Well, yes."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Oh, it just felt so real."  
  
She smiled more brightly and filled his teacup again. "Christian, I'm an actress. It's my job to pretend. I'm sorry."  
  
Christian looked up at her. "I'm not."  
  
Satine poured herself another cup of tea, and as the breeze blew cooler and the night wore on, she wrapped her shawl around herself, and they talked into the night. They talked about theater and acting, singing and dancing, movies and money, and anything else they could think of. They laughed and smiled, cried and comforted, and they never stopped talking. Not once.  
  
When Satine stood to make some more tea at about five in the morning, Christian followed her inside. She plugged in the electric kettle and said, "So, have you ever been in love?" It was the question they had both been avoiding all night. Christian sat down carefully in a chair and answered, "Once, I think. It was at home in Albany. I was working as a journalist for the local paper, and she was a copy editor. We went out a couple of times, but just as I thought it was getting serious, she elopes with this guy from Classifieds. I never really knew what I felt about her."  
  
Satine unplugged the kettle and put a few tea bags inside. As she dipped them in and out, Christian asked, "What about you?"  
  
She sighed. "I'm a performer," she said, "I can't fall in love."  
  
Christian sat up with a start. "Can't fall in love? Well, that's terrible!"  
  
"No, being on the streets, that's terrible."  
  
"No! Don't you ever want to just be held by someone who cares about you? Just sit in the same room as someone who thinks you're the world and you think the same of them? Have you ever wanted to kiss someone on the cheek and fell shivers down your spine? Or hold someone's hand under a table at dinner because you don't want to make the other people at the table feel uncomfortable? Don't you want all that?"  
  
Satine cast her eyes down. Why was she shivering? It was warm in her apartment, so why did she keep getting shivers down her spine? Suddenly, she felt this overwhelming urge to just throw her arms around Christian's neck and have him hold her forever. But, instead, she said, "Who ever said I didn't want that?"  
  
Christian looked at her curiously. They looked into each other's eyes for what seemed like eternity, until Satine leaned down slowly, closed her eyes, and they kissed. Christian put his arms around her and held her close. They finally broke apart, and Christian asked, "So what does this mean?" Satine whispered, "I don't know." She kissed him again, this time pulling him onto his feet and putting her arms around his neck. When they broke away again, she whispered, "Wow."  
  
"What?" Christian asked.  
  
"I think . . ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm falling in love with you."  
  
This time when they kissed, it was long and lasting, so that they both knew that they loved each other, and they both knew they would never love another. 


	4. Rehearsing the Show

Sorry I didn't post at the end of the last chapter. I realized I left out the medley, but I promise it's in this chapter, and with good reason. Anyway, I don't own the characters yadda yadda yadda. I saw Star Wars yesterday. It was good. Sorry, I'm not pushing the movie, it's just yadda reminded me of Yoda and one thing led to another . . . Anyway, if you're curious about the French in this chapter, here's the interpretations:  
  
Princess Fleur Diamant: Satine's character, the Princess Diamond Flower  
  
Prime Minister bon Marché: Zibler's character, Prime Minister Cheapskate  
  
Sir Audacieux: the male lead, Sir Daring  
  
Kind of obvious names, I know, but just forget it. I think it's cute. And by the way, for those of you that are wondering, Zibler is not a typo. It's there on purpose.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
"So, at the end of act one, we have the princess locked in a tower in the evil Prime Minister's apartment." He gestured to Zibler, who had ended up taking the role of Prime Minister bon Marché and to Satine, who played Princess Fleur Diamant. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Duke was sitting next to her, with his arm around her. She looked disgusted. "In the next act," Christian continued, "Princess Fleur will be rescued by her lover, the knight Sir Audacieux. An attempt at escape will be made, but bon Marché will discover them, and Sir Audacieux will be sentenced to death. Then the third act comes in."  
  
"What happens in the third act?" asked an annoying young dancer named Nellie. Christian shrugged. "Don't know, haven't written that part yet." He winked almost imperceptibly at Satine. She smiled.  
  
"All right, back to rehearsals!" Zibler yelled, replacing his hat and taking his place on the stage. Satine stood and took her place. Christian stopped her.  
  
"Wait, Miss Satine. I have something to discuss with you. It's about your musical number in the fourth scene. Would you meet me tonight to work on it?" Satine smiled and nodded. "Of course. Anything for the show."  
  
Duke jumped out of his seat. "But, my dear, we have dinner plans at the Restaurant Français De Fantaisie tonight! I pulled quite a few strings to get us in on such late notice!"  
  
Satine turned and smiled at Duke. "Of course, darling, but my work calls. Scene four is such a pivotal scene, and we must have it perfected by tomorrow. Surely you understand?"  
  
Duke nodded. "But just remember lunch tomorrow, sweet!"  
  
Satine walked away with a fixed smile on her face. Christian leaned over a bit.  
  
"Oh my gosh," she breathed through her smile.  
  
"I know," Christian whispered back.  
  
"Same time tomorrow, chaps!" Zibler called, breaking rehearsal for the day. The dancers all left at their own pace, either heading to the parking lot to drive home, or to their rooms in the club's apartment. Zibler called Christian over.  
  
"This is some good shit, you s.o.b.," he said, hitting Christian on the shoulder, laughing. "I never would have thought sap could be so fuckin' good. You're a great writer, you know that? Shit, Christian, have you ever thought of having books published?"  
  
Christian just shook his head. Zibler laughed again, then walked away. Christian walked slowly and nonchalantly toward a curtain covering a secret annex in the side wall. He found Satine waiting there for him. He walked straight to her and kissed her. They kissed for a few moments, until Duke called, "Satine? Satine, where are you?" She gently wiped the lipstick from his lips and around the edges of hers, kissed him on the cheek and said, "Tonight." Then she left. Christian hurried out of the back stairs. No one had seen him go in.  
  
He got back to his apartment as quickly as possible. He didn't know why, but he had to get away. Henri was there already, making a wonderful dinner.  
  
"Ah, Kwis, you'w hewe!" he said, pulling a roast turkey out of the oven. "I wath making thumthing thpecial fow youw dinnew tonight. Do you mind?"  
  
Christian smiled. "Not in the least."  
  
He threw his briefcase and jacket onto the couch, opened the door onto his balcony, and sat. He sat and thought until two hours later, there was a knock on his door.  
  
"Come in," he called, going inside.  
  
"Hi." Satine stepped inside. Christian thought she looked even more beautiful here in his apartment than in the harsh lights of the theater. So . . . pure and . . . innocent. He smiled.  
  
"Please, sit. I'd like to tell you that I've made us a wonderful dinner, but that would be lying. Henri?" Henri came out of the kitchen carrying two platefuls of delicious-looking food. Satine clapped her hands together and looked as if she'd never seen a meal so grand. Christian lit two candles and had Henri turn the lights off. As they settled into their dinner, Satine asked:  
  
"So, what are we going to do about the duet in scene four?"  
  
Christian swallowed. "I don't know, I haven't really made up my mind."  
  
"What if we . . . . what if we did a medley of every great love song you've ever heard?" Satine suggested.  
  
"I like that idea. It could be . . ."  
  
"All you need is love," Christian sang, pursuing Satine up the stairs in his building.  
  
"A girl has got to eat," she said back.  
  
"All you need is love."  
  
"She'll end up on the street!"  
  
"All you need is love."  
  
She sang for the first time. "Love is just a game."  
  
"I was made for loving you baby, you were made for loving me," Christian sang as he jumped in front of her and did a little dance.  
  
"The only way of loving me, baby, is to pay a lovely fee." She didn't quite know what she was singing, but she flipped her hair as she walked past him.  
  
"'A lovely fee'?" Christian asked, laughing.  
  
"Shut up, it rhymes with 'me.'"  
  
Christian laughed, but continued. "Just one night, give me just one night."  
  
"There's no way 'cause you . . . can't pay? Shut up."  
  
"In the name of love," he opened the door onto the roof and they climbed onto it, "One night in the name of love!"  
  
"You crazy fool, I won't give in to you."  
  
"Don't . . . leave me this way, I can't survive without your sweet love, oh baby, don't leave me this way." Satine leaned onto the railing around the edge of the roof.  
  
"You'd think that people would've had enough of silly love songs."  
  
"I look around me and I see it isn't so, oh no."  
  
"Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs."  
  
"Well what's wrong with that," he sang, trying to kiss her, "I'd like to know," she pulled away, "Cause here I go . . ."  
  
He ran to jump onto the railing on the other side of the roof, "Again! Love lifts us up where we belong, where eagles fly on a mountain high." That was the last one he could think of!  
  
Satine pulled him down. "Love makes us act like we are fools. Throw our lives away for one happy day." Shit, here I go, he thought.  
  
Inspiration struck Christian as she walked expectantly toward the stair door. "We could be heroes, just for one day!"  
  
"You," she sang, walking down the stairs, "You will be mean."  
  
"No, I won't," he followed her.  
  
"And I, I'll drink all the time."  
  
They reached his room. "We should be lovers," he sang as a confused Henri looked on.  
  
"We can't do that."  
  
"We should be lovers, and that's a fact."  
  
"Though nothing could keep us together?"  
  
"We could steal time . . ."  
  
"Just for one day," they sang together, "We could be heroes forever and ever . . . we could be heroes forever and ever . . . we could be heroes . . ."  
  
Christian broke into, "Just because I will always love you . . ."  
  
"I can't help loving . . ."  
  
"Mmmm," Christian hummed.  
  
"How wonderful life is," she sang.  
  
"Now you're in the world," they answered each other.  
  
"That's perfect," she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his.  
  
"I'm glad you like it."  
  
They kissed again. Their food was getting cold.  
  
When Satine and her costar, the Narcoleptic Argentinean secretary, of all people, were on-stage the following day, Christian was directing them to their spots.  
  
"No, no, that's not how I want it. Like this," he stepped into the Argentinean's place, put his arm around Satine and sang, "Just because I will always love you."  
  
"I can't help loving . . ."  
  
"Mmmm . . ."  
  
"How wonderful life is . . ."  
  
"Now you're in the world."  
  
She leaned in. "You're going to be very bad for my reputation, I can tell." The orchestra built to an ending, and Satine and Christian kissed. They broke after realizing they had gotten a little too into it. Christian cleared his throat and walked away, slightly smiling. Satine was smiling as well.  
  
"Right, so Audacieux and Fleur sing their song, then the Prime Minister comes in, and they pretend to be in the midst of singing lessons."  
  
They took their places. Zibler walked in wearing a huge turban on his head.  
  
"What are you doing?" he bellowed, script in hand.  
  
"Why, my darling," Satine said, we were just having a singing lesson.  
  
"Wait!" Christian yelled, "Is there a reason, Mister Zibler, why you're wearing that turban?"  
  
After a brief argument, Zibler removed his turban. Satine giggled at Christian's face the entire time. She loved him. She really loved him. 


	5. The Date

The second day of rehearsals was finally over, having lasted from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, with Zibler's declaration: "Good work, people. Same time tomorrow morning. We'll rehearse scene eight, 'The Lovers Are Discovered.'" Satine jumped down off the stage. Christian was involved in a conversation with Zibler about the costume designs when Satine came up behind them.  
  
"Umm, Mister Londen?" she asked innocently, "I was having some trouble with my lines. I was wondering if you could help me."  
  
Christian nodded. "Of course. Excuse me, Mister Zibler." He and Satine went into their private annex. She shut the curtain behind her and turned to kiss him. They kissed for a moment, then Christian said, "Are you going to come to my apartment tonight?" She nodded, then said, "Wait! You want to go have some real fun?"  
  
Three hours later, they were in the back of a cab, riding down the packed streets of New York City. Satine was wearing a dark blue, spaghetti strap top and a short black, sparkly skirt with her hair half up and curled, and Christian was in a gray, button-down shirt with a white undershirt and khakis, looking rather sexy with his hair spiked and glasses on. Satine grabbed his hand and pointed things out along the way.  
  
"That's Noodle Stop, they've got great pseudo-Chinese food. And that's Chateau Bellrisse - that's where I get my nice clothes. Oh! That's where you can go . . ."  
  
Christian was only half listening. He was too busy staring at her beautiful eyes and watching her perfect red lips move as she spoke. She turned and saw him staring at her, and smiled.  
  
"Of course," she said, "This is the only place that a girl can kiss a truly amazing boy." She slid her hand into his, intertwining her fingers with his, leaned in slowly, and kissed him.  
  
When they broke, Christian said, "Oh, now that's not true." The cab stopped, and he took her hand to help her out of the car. As the cab drove away, he said, "You can kiss an amazing boy right here, too." Satine giggled, and they kissed again.  
  
"Come on!" Satine grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside the building they were standing in front of.  
  
Christian ducked inside and took a look around. A terribly horrible voice was coming from the speakers around the room. Satine pulled him over to a bar, ordered two beers, then turned to Christian.  
  
"Isn't this place great?" she asked.  
  
Christian looked at her. "It's a . . . a . . . It's a karaoke bar!" he exclaimed, taking a drink of his beer.  
  
"Yeah," Satine said, laughing. Suddenly, a half-drunken man thrust a microphone into Satine's hands.  
  
"All yours, baby," he said, tottering away. Satine looked at Christian.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
She looked at him over her blue-tinted sunglasses.  
  
"Oh, no," Christian said, understanding.  
  
"Please?" Satine begged.  
  
"No," Christian said.  
  
"Please?"  
  
"No, you know I can't sing."  
  
"That's beside the point, and yes, you can sing. C'mon. I'm going up there and you're," she grabbed his jacket collar, "Coming with me."  
  
She pulled him up onto the stage. He stood there, looking sheepish while Satine held the attention of every drunk/non-drunk in the bar. She handed Christian another microphone as the first chords of a song began to play.  
  
"Oh, no," he said under his breath. Satine, following the words on a television screen in front of them, began to sing.  
  
"Listen, baby. Ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough, baby."  
  
Christian just looked at her. She nodded for him to start singing. He jumped in reluctantly, ". . . where you are, no matter how far. I'm singing the girl's part," he added to Satine. She shrugged, singing, "Don't you know that there ain't no mountain . . ."  
  
"High enough," he came in again, "Ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough to keep me from getting to you, babe?"  
  
He was finally getting into it as the crowd cheered them on. Satine grabbed his free hand and began to dance with him.  
  
"Oh, baby! My love is alive, way down in my heart although we are miles apart," sang Satine.  
  
"Don't worry."  
  
"Just call my name I'll be there in a hurry. You don't have to worry . . ."  
  
The final chorus came and they had the whole bar singing:  
  
"'Cause baby there ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough to keep me from getting to you, babe! To keep me from getting to you . . ."  
  
Christian laughed as the music faded out and the bar applauded. They took a brief bow and set down their microphones, then hurried back to the bar.  
  
"Holy shit!" Christian exclaimed, taking another swig of his beer, "That's the most fun I've ever had in my life!"  
  
Satine smiled. "Let's go somewhere else," she said, slamming money down on the bar for the bartender. She grabbed Christian again, and pulled him out of the door.  
  
She hailed a taxi, and as they climbed in the cabby asked, "Where?"  
  
"Forty-fifth and main," she said. He looked at them.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Satine looked at him over her sunglasses. "Of course."  
  
The cabby shrugged and drove quickly to an old, dilapidated building on the corner of Forty-fifth Street and Main Street. Satine handed him a wad of cash, climbed out of the car with Christian, and he drove away. Satine smiled at Christian.  
  
"Isn't it great?" she asked, pulling him with her.  
  
"Umm, yeah, I guess," he faltered, trying to see what was so great about an old, falling-down building. He followed her inside, up a flight of unstable stairs, and into a room.  
  
"Wow," he breathed. There was a bed inside, covered in pink and white silk sheets, with a white lace canopy covering it. A mahogany table with two chairs was set for two with a delicious-looking meal. There was a CD player set up on the other side of the room, next to an end table with a bottle of wine in ice and two crystal wine glasses. There were rose petals and candles everywhere. Christian turned to Satine, who closed the door, and walked over to the wine.  
  
"Some wine, monsieur?" she asked, pulling the cork and pouring two glasses. She carried one over to him and asked, "What shall we toast to?"  
  
"How about, love?" he suggested  
  
"Hmm, a little boring, what about love overcoming all obstacles?"  
  
"I like that."  
  
They clinked glasses, took a sip, then leaned in and kissed, slowly and sweetly.  
  
They set their glasses down on the table, kissed their way over to the bed, lay down. They broke apart for a moment.  
  
"Is this what you want?" he asked.  
  
Satine searched his eyes, finding nothing but love there. Then she smiled and said, "Yes. This is everything I want."  
  
Christian smiled, then leaned down and kissed her.  
  
***************************************************************************  
  
Aww, sorry, guys, no graphic stuff, it's just not my style. As always, these characters are not mine, the storyline isn't even exactly mine, but hey, I've made this my own, so sue me. And, also, as always, I would greatly appreciate any posting of reviews that you would care to do. Thanks! Sorry it's been so long since I've posted on this one.  
  
Love always,  
  
Evie 


	6. Being Late . . .

Sunlight streamed in through the grimy window. Christian opened his eyes and rolled over to see Satine's fiery red hair next to him. The CD player was still playing Mozart, and the wine bottle, half-empty, sat on a table next to the bed. He sighed, smiling, and breathed in Satine's wonderful smell.  
  
She breathed in deeply, opened her eyes, and rolled over to see Christian watching her sleep. She smiled.  
  
"G'morning," she said, stretching.  
  
"Good morning." He kissed her on the cheek, then threw back the covers and got out of bed, throwing his boxers on as he did so. Satine followed suit, quickly putting on her clothes. They turned off the music, and went to the door together.  
  
"I love you," Christian said, kissing her.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
They hurriedly went out the door and rushed to hail a cab. It was still early, so they got one quickly, hurried inside, then directed the driver to the Club Rouge. They had rehearsals they were already . . . ten minutes late for!  
  
Christian rushed behind Satine as the ran to make it to rehearsals before Zibler blew a fuse. Satine stopped Christian so she could go in first. She made her way in, and Christian hung back, waiting so people would not suspect their romance.  
  
Five minutes went by, and Christian decided to go inside.  
  
He made his way to the performance hall, to find everyone deep in rehearsal. No one even noticed him come in. Satine was in place on stage, apparently unharmed. Christian walked up to sit with Zibler, as he was not in this scene.  
  
"Where the hell have you been, Londen?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eye on the performers.  
  
"I . . . overslept."  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
Christian looked at him. Did he know? He decided to play it cool.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Just answer these questions. If you don't say yes to any of these questions, then you're okay with me. If you say yes to one or more, then you're a fucking, back-stabbing, ass hole."  
  
Christian gulped.  
  
"Are you working somewhere else?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Are you gay?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Are you dating one of my dancers?"  
  
He caught his breath, looking at Satine. He quickly looked away, and said, "No."  
  
"If I find out you're lying to me . . ."  
  
Christian inhaled deeply, "All right, I'm seeing . . ."  
  
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"  
  
A piercing scream echoed in the auditorium. Nellie, the annoying whore, was gaping at a space in the wall.  
  
Everyone rushed over to her, looking in the wall. Duke had his pants down around his ankles, and was thrusting into a naked cancan girl from behind. They were obviously engaged in an act that was quite common around the club. Satine gasped.  
  
"My dear," Duke said, pulling his pants up and rushing out into the room, dropping the other girl onto the ground, "Please, hear me . . ."  
  
"I thought you loved me," Satine sobbed. She really was an amazing actress.  
  
"I do, but I am a man, and I do have needs."  
  
Satine gaped at him. "So that gives you a right to sleep with another girl?"  
  
It was Duke's turn to look surprised. "You're a PROSTITUTE!!" he screamed, "You have been fucking other men for years! I have a right to screw any damned whore I want!"  
  
Satine straightened up. "Fine. Forget about ever being with me."  
  
Duke grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a kiss. "Do not forget you are bound to me by a contract. You will come to me tonight for dinner, and you will come to my bed and you WILL let me have you," he whispered only to her. He then kissed her roughly and threw her back toward the stage.  
  
"Rehearsals will continue as scheduled," Duke said, enunciating every word, "And the show will be ready by next week. Or, the Club Rouge will be mine."  
  
With that, he left. The performers all stood there, watching Satine pretend to cry. Zibler took her aside, whispered something to her, then sent her back up to the stage to continue the rehearsal. Christian looked relieved that Zibler had forgotten about their conversation, and began to direct the scene, fixing things that hadn't been fixed, and correcting dancers when they missed their cues.  
  
"That's it," Zibler said at the end of the day, rather subdued, "We're done for today. Everybody just . . . go home."  
  
The performers packed up and prepared to leave. Satine wandered over to where Christian was waiting. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. They both laughed, and Christian whispered, "I suppose you can't come to my apartment tonight?"  
  
Satine shook her head. "I have to go to Duke. He'll shut us down if he thinks I'm screwing around."  
  
Christian looked at her oddly. "Is that all you're doing . . . with me? Is that what this is? You're just 'screwing around?'"  
  
Satine shook her head again. "No, Chris, that's not what I'm doing at all."  
  
"Do you love me?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you love me?"  
  
Satine looked at him a moment, then said, "Yes. Without a doubt." They kissed again, then Zibler called, "Satine . . . Satine, bluebird, where are you?"  
  
"I'll call you," she said, kissing him again. Christian stared at her as she walked away, then left himself.  
  
Little did they know that Zibler had seen everything.  
  
"What is it, Harry?" Satine asked innocently.  
  
"My office, five o'clock. Be ready to see Mister Duke."  
  
"Well, all right, I just . . ."  
  
"No!" he grabbed her wrist sharply. "You will be in my office at five o'clock or I will personally see that the writer is fired. Do you hear me? Fired!" he hissed into her ear. He then let go of her wrist and added, "You think no one knows? Everyone knows. Everyone except Duke." Then he walked away.  
  
Shit, Satine thought, we're screwed.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Oh, no, is Satine right? Are they screwed? You'll have to read my next chapter and find out, mwahahahaha! There's that evil laugh again. I hope you keep reading (and reviewing, the button is just right there!), because it just got interesting!  
  
~Evie 


	7. The Accident

Satine got out of her car outside of Zibler's office building. She clenched her fists and said to herself, "It's just Harold. You're fine." But she didn't feel fine. She had her hair up in a French twist, her makeup was light, and she was dusted with glitter. She was wearing a knee- length, crimson, slip-skirt with a ruffle at the bottom, and black halter top with rhinestones around the edges. Her feet sparkled in shoes that looked as if they were made from nothing but diamonds. She felt a little dizzy as she prepared to walk into the building. Satine carefully stepped up onto the curb . . . and fell flat on her face.  
  
"Shit!" she said, standing up and checking her clothes for rips. There were none, so she quickly pulled herself together and walked toward the building. Not that it was that easy in stiletto heels, but, bloody hell, she danced in them every night.  
  
Once in the building, she nodded to the secretary (the Argentinean) and went to the elevator. She hit the button for the forty-second floor, and waited as the elevator clicked and shuddered its way.  
  
Suddenly, the lights flickered, and the elevator jolted to a stop. Satine was thrown to the floor, hitting her head on the wall behind her, knocking her out.  
  
Zibler paced his office. It was five fifteen. She should have been there. She was always punctual. He tried calling the front desk to ask the Argentinean if she'd come in, but he obviously had succumbed to his narcolepsy and fallen asleep. Finally, he decided to just go downstairs and see if anything had happened.  
  
He reached the elevator doors and pressed the down button. A loud bang and electronical buzzing and mechanical creaking answered him back. He pressed it again only to get the same results. Deciding that the elevator was stuck, he turned and ran down the stairs, reaching the unconscious Argentinean and attempted to wake him.  
  
Duke was pacing in his hotel room. She was to meet him in . . . twenty minutes. Everything was perfect. The food was the most elegant meal ever prepared. There were gifts for her hidden everywhere he thought they would be that evening - one was under each pillow on the silk-sheeted bed. Roses and candles were spread about the room, the curtains were drawn, and soft violin music was emanating from strategically placed speakers. He had made this room his own when he moved in, and now, Satine would be wooed by it.  
  
The clock struck six. She should be here by now. What was keeping her?  
  
Christian paced in his apartment. Six fifteen. Right now, she and Eivel Duke were probably sitting down to dinner. He hit himself hard on the forehead.  
  
"Stop thinking about her!" he yelled at himself, "She chose Duke, remember? Not Christian Londen, she chose Eivel Duke!"  
  
He threw himself down on his bed. Wait, he thought, didn't Zibler say that she was to go to his office? He shot straight out of bed, ran down the stairs of his building, and out to his car. He was going to save her from herself.  
  
Six thirty. Zibler had awoken the Argentinean, and together the two had concluded that Satine was caught in the elevator, and had called the fire department.  
  
The firemen forced the elevator door open on floor thirty-six. She had almost made it to Zibler. The bottom half of the elevator was visible and open, and a sparkling stiletto heel could be seen. Carefully, a fireman climbed up into the elevator and grabbed a hold of her ankles, pulling her to safety.  
  
Satine slid onto the waiting stretcher, and the paramedics quickly rolled her down the stairs and out to the waiting ambulance. Zibler followed closely behind, proclaiming that he was the only family she had. Together, they climbed into the ambulance and drove out of the parking lot, sirens blaring.  
  
Christian pulled into the parking lot to see the Argentinean standing in the empty parking lot. He parked his car, climbed out, and ran to the Argentinean.  
  
"They took Satine to the hospital," he said without any questioning, "There was an elevator accident."  
  
Christian stood dumbfounded for a second, then dashed back to his car, jumped in, and raced away toward the hospital.  
  
Zibler held her hand as they wheeled her into MRI. They stopped him at the doors. "Family only," they claimed, and Harold Zibler kissed her on the cheek as they took her away. He went to wait in the ER waiting room.  
  
Christian pulled into the parking lot. He ran into the ER, and dashed up to the desk.  
  
"P . . . Perris," he gasped, "Satine Perris. Is she here?"  
  
The nurse behind the desk looked at her computer screen. "Yes, they just brought her in. She's in MRI. Are you family?"  
  
Christian nodded. "I'm her . . . husband."  
  
The nurse smiled. "Well, Mr. Perris, you can wait over there with her father. She should be out in a little while, then we should know more."  
  
Christian thanked her, then turned. Her father? It had to be . . .  
  
Zibler saw Christian looking around the ER lobby. He waved to him to get his attention. A look of understanding dawned on Christian's face. He walked slowly over to him.  
  
"Hi, Dad," he said, half laughing. He looked very somber, though, so Zibler decided to play slightly along.  
  
"If it isn't my son-in-law. Why do you never call?"  
  
Christian looked at him strangely, and Zibler nodded.  
  
So Zibler knew. He wasn't mad, though, so Christian took that as a good sign. He seemed genuinely worried about Satine.  
  
"My little sparrow," he whispered over and over. "It's all my fault. That damned elevator . . ."  
  
A doctor came walking up to them. "Mr. Perris, Mr. Zibler, I'm Doctor Harris. I've been looking after Satine."  
  
Christian and Zibler shook hands with the doctor, and he continued.  
  
"I have a bit of depressing news. She has a major concussion, resulting from the blow to the head from the accident. There has been immense bleeding to the brain. We've stopped it, but there still is a lot of fluid in there. The problem is, if it clots, she'll have a stroke, and most likely . . . it won't be good. So we have two options. First, we wait for it to drain naturally. Second, we can go in for surgery. It's minor, we just slowly drain as much of the blood as we can without harming her. The problem is, Mrs. Perris doesn't have insurance, and unless you have coverage, Mr. Perris," he said, nodding to Christian, "Then the procedure can get very expensive. I leave the choice to you."  
  
Christian and Zibler nodded, then as the doctor walked away, they looked at each other.  
  
"No," Christian said, "We're not bringing him. He's not coming here."  
  
"Christian it's the only way . . ."  
  
"No! Satine said that he said if she's ever seen with me again, that he'll kill me . . . and her . . . So it's pointless, bringing him here."  
  
"Unless . . ."  
  
Christian looked at Zibler and saw what he was saying. If Duke came, he'd have to leave, or hide, and could probably never see Satine again. But if Duke didn't come . . . Satine would die.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Perris, Mr. Zibler," Doctor Harris was coming back, "Satine's coming 'round. If you'd like to see her, go right on into room 216, just up the stairs and to the left."  
  
Zibler and Christian got up and went to her room.  
  
Satine stirred just as the two men entered. She rolled her head over from the left to look at them standing in her doorway. She smiled weakly.  
  
Christian rushed over to her and kissed her on the cheek.  
  
"How are you, darling?" he asked.  
  
"I've been better," she said so quietly that Christian could barely hear her.  
  
Christian looked at Zibler, then took Satine's hand. He looked at her very seriously.  
  
"Satine, darling," he said, "We've run into a bit of trouble. There's a little bit of a problem, nothing serious, it's just that, you're going to need a bit of surgery."  
  
Satine had to have been delirious or something, because the normal Satine would have freaked out if she had been told she needed surgery. But this Satine, sick Satine, just nodded gravely. She understood completely.  
  
"Well, the thing is, it's kind of expensive, and we don't have any money . . ."  
  
Satine shook her head. "No, Christian. I won't have him here. I'd rather die than to have . . ."  
  
"You will die," Zibler interjected, "If you don't have this surgery."  
  
Satine gasped. "No," she said, "I still won't have him here. He'll kill Christian and then he'll kill me. It won't make any difference, Harold, except Christian will be able to go on . . ."  
  
Christian looked into her eyes. "I think we should do this."  
  
Satine shook her head. "No! I refuse to!"  
  
"Darling, I can leave . . ."  
  
"NO, you're not leaving me!"  
  
"But if he doesn't come . . . you'll leave me! That's not very fair, is it?"  
  
Satine didn't take her eyes of Christian, but said to Zibler, "Harold, leave us."  
  
Zibler left, leaving Christian and Satine alone.  
  
Christian started to pick the argument back up, but Satine hushed him.  
  
"No, I want to talk. Just talk, like we did . . . that first night."  
  
Satine's breathing was getting more shallow as she spoke. Christian's eyes teared up, but he kept looking at her.  
  
"So, how's the show coming?"  
  
"Pretty good. I still . . . have to write an ending."  
  
"Well, that's good."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, then Christian asked quietly, "What's your real name?"  
  
Satine laughed. "Adrienne," she whispered, "Adrienne Hoffman."  
  
Christian smiled. "Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"That's a very pretty name."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Another moment of silence went by, then Christian said, "You don't have to have the surgery here, you know. My parents can pay for it, back in Albany. We could leave now, secretly, and no one would know."  
  
Satine smiled. "I don't want to pretend anymore."  
  
"Then you don't have to, Adrienne."  
  
"I like it when you call me that."  
  
Christian gently kissed her, then stood. He lifted her out of bed, then whispered, "We're getting out of here."  
  
Satine put her feet on the ground, and walked leaning on Christian out to the door. The went to the stairs - Satine didn't want to take an elevator, even one floor - and went back to the lobby. Satine piled her hair up and put it under a shower cap. Christian pulled the hood of his wind breaker up, hiding his face. Satine could hide him from Zibler if he walked by. They quietly stole out of the side door, getting trouble from no one, except an orderly that demanded to know if she had checked out. They ignored him, then walked faster to his car, just outside parked in a handicapped spot - he had borrowed Henri's handicapped placard to hang from his rear view mirror.  
  
They piled into the car, Christian laying Satine carefully down in the back seat. Then he quickly started his car, and they sped out of the parking lot.  
  
****************************************************************************  
  
See, I told you I was going to stray from the movie a little. In the next chapter, Satine (or Adrienne, but I'm going to keep calling her Satine . . . maybe) and Christian get to Albany. What happens when they get there? Thanks for the reviews . . . you haven't posted in a while. I love all y'all that do. Ha, see, now I'm from the South. But am I really? You draw your own conclusions.  
  
~Evie  
  
I don't own Moulin Rouge or its characters, a- . . . . . . . . . . . . . 


	8. Getting to Albany

Christian stopped the car again. He climbed out, checked on Satine, then proceeded to pump gas into the tank. Only twenty miles left, but he was running on empty, both figuratively and literally.  
  
He couldn't believe he was twenty miles from doing what he swore he'd never do - going back to his parents.  
  
He had left home when he was eighteen, wanting to see the world, upholding the ancient Bohemian ideals of freedom, beauty, truth, and love. Which was why the first stop on his tour of independence was the ultimate hub of Bohemian realism - or surrealism, if that's the way you looked at it: Paris. He spent a year living in a small village called Montmartre, a "village of sin" as his father called it. His little apartment housed his dreams, and he found beautiful things, places, and women to write about. Still, he wasn't as happy as he'd imagined he'd be.  
  
One night, as he was taking a walk for inspiration to write, an old woman walked up to him. She was very, very old, but she didn't seem as old as she was. She was dressed from head to foot in cancan garb, and looked as if she had danced at some point in her life. She smiled at him and said, "You have that look about you."  
  
Christian, confused, looked at her and asked, "What look would that be?"  
  
"The look of a true dreamer. Not one of those silly schoolboys who come here every year looking for fame, sex, and absinthe."  
  
Christian was a bit taken aback by this woman's words. She, however, continued. "How old are you?"  
  
"Eighteen."  
  
"Ah, eighteen. Such a young, beautiful age. You must be careful, young one, these streets will strip you clean of all the beauty that you hold. Do you paint?"  
  
"I write."  
  
"A writer. Yes, the poets are the most beautiful of all. My pretty one," she said, taking a small step closer, "Go home. Or, maybe not home, but leave here. This is not the place for you, little one. Please, save your spirit."  
  
Then, she turned and left. Christian could have sworn she just disappeared.  
  
Now Christian thought of how his parents would react when he came home with a dying dancer/hooker named Satine and Adrienne. He doubted they would be very accepting.  
  
He ran his credit card through the gas pump, paid for it, then climbed back in to finish the drive to . . . . he didn't know.  
  
Albany General Hospital greeted them with a gleaming whit stucco building, and several paramedics helped carry her into the ER. Once she was inside and being taken care of, the nurse attendant at the desk asked, "What's her name, love?"  
  
"Adrienne," he answered, "Adrienne P- . . . Londen."  
  
He wasn't going to give her real name or stage name, because she could be traced by Zibler. He left the desk after giving his name, and wandered over to a pay phone.  
  
Shit, he thought, here I go. His hand touched the phone. No, he thought, this had to be done in person. But how? He couldn't leave Satine, and chances were his parents wouldn't come there. How could he get them to see . . . that he loved her? He stared through the ER doors, where they had taken his beloved. He didn't even really know what to call her anymore. But that didn't matter. She was the same person, no matter what her name was. He would always love her, and if she died today, he would know that, and he would be all right. But she wasn't going to die. Christian was going to make sure of that.  
  
Could he call his parents? Should he call his parents? Would they ever understand? Questions flew through his mind, each more desperate and more radical than another. Could he call anyone else? Maybe there was. Maybe he wouldn't have to call his parents. But, would anyone else understand anything? Would anyone else help? He thought for a moment, then said to himself, "I have to call . . ."  
  
His hand clutched the phone, while the other inserted quarters. He dialed a number.  
  
"Hello?" came a voice on the other end of the line.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Who did he call? *collective gasp* Did he have anyone else to call? Ah, these questions will be answered in chapter NINE! Hahaha, maybe I'll post quickly. Thanks oodles to all my reviewers. I love you guys. Sorry about the shortness of this chapter. I wanted to get a kind of transition thing going.  
  
~Evie 


	9. Making Choices

Christian took a deep breath and answered, "Hi, Mom."  
  
The woman on the other end whispered, "Christian?"  
  
Christian murmured confirmation into the receiver. His mother gasped.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"Albany General."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Listen, Mom, I've got something to ask you."  
  
"Anything. Anything at all. It's so good to hear your voice again."  
  
"Yours, too, Mom."  
  
"What was it you wanted to ask me?"  
  
Here we go, thought Christian. "I . . . I just recently spent some time in New York. I met this . . . girl . . ."  
  
"A girl?" asked his mother, intrigued.  
  
"Yeah, her name's Adrienne. But there was an accident."  
  
"Oh my God. Are you all right?"  
  
"I wasn't in it. It was an elevator. Adrienne has to have surgery . . . and we can't pay for it."  
  
There was a pause. A long pause. Christian's mother drew in a long breath then said, "And this is your responsibility why?"  
  
Christian paused then, too. "Because . . . because I love her."  
  
Neither of them said anything for a long time. Finally, Mrs. Londen said, "Adrienne, huh?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"That sounds like a nice name."  
  
Christian smiled. "So you'll do it? You'll help pay for it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I love you, Mom."  
  
"I love you, too, Chris."  
  
"I'll see you in the ER. I'll tell them they can go ahead. There's something I want to say to S- Adrienne first."  
  
"Okay, sweetheart, I'll be there in a little while."  
  
Christian hung up the phone and sprinted into the ER where the paramedics had taken his darling, his Satine.  
  
She was lying in a bed, hooked up to an IV. Apparently she had gotten worse. Tears sprung into Christian's eyes. A heart monitor beeped on the other side of the room. If she had damage to the head . . . why would she need a heart monitor? Was there something more?  
  
"Hi," she said weakly. She sounded worse than she did that evening. The sun was setting behind the trees outside of her window. Christian tried to push back his tears, but one fell of its own free will. Satine saw it and smiled.  
  
"Oh, darling," she breathed, "Don't cry for me. It's going to be fine. Remember?"  
  
Christian nodded and said, "I just called my mom."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And she'll do it."  
  
Satine settled down in her bed, smiling. "That's good."  
  
"Listen," Christian said, sitting down on the bed beside her, "There's something I wanted to ask you before . . . before . . . before you got sick." He pulled a small black box out of his jacket. He had spent the money he had left to buy her the most beautiful ring in New York. If she said yes, then he would never need another happy moment in his life, because he was marrying Satine Perris, or Adrienne Hoffman, whoever she was. He opened the lid of the box to reveal the ring to Satine.  
  
She gasped weakly, staring at what she had once proclaimed as "a girl's best friend." The most beautiful ring she had ever seen was lying before her. Christian hit a knee.  
  
"If I were a sculptor . . . but then again, no," he began, "Or a man who made potions in a traveling show . . . ." He decided to start over. "I don't have much money, but boy if I did," his palms were sweating so badly he could barely hold the ring, and Satine was delirious (imagine if she'd been fully conscious), "I'd buy a big house where we both could live."  
  
Continuing in the vein of Elton John, he broke into the end of the first verse in song. "I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world." He kissed her hand. "Marry me, Adrienne."  
  
Satine looked uncomfortable. "Christian," she said quietly, "You don't even know who I really am. I'm not the one you saw that day on- stage. I'm not even that girl you knew back in New York. I'm . . . . I'm . . . I'm not Satine."  
  
Christian took her hand. "You're right. You're not Satine. But darling, I do know you. I've known you my whole life. I knew I loved you before I met you. I have been waiting all my life. I knew I loved you before I met you. I will always love you. You are Adrienne Hoffman, the love of my life. Not Satine . . . You are Adrienne. And I love you."  
  
Satine's eyes teared up. She could barely see Christian for the delirium and the tears, but her mind was amazingly clear. She wanted this more than anything she had ever wanted. She smiled, and said, "You're right. I am Adrienne. But not Hoffman. I am Adrienne Londen."  
  
Christian laughed slightly, then slipped the ring on her finger. He leaned up and kissed her gently. The doctor came in.  
  
"Have you decided, Miss Londen?" he asked.  
  
"That's Mrs. Londen," she said, "And yes."  
  
"We've decided," Christian said, "That we want to do the surgery."  
  
The doctor nodded. "All right, then, Mrs. Londen, let's take you into OR."  
  
Two orderlies came and wheeled Satine away from Christian.  
  
"Chris!" she yelled.  
  
"I'll be waiting for you in the lobby, darling!"  
  
"I love you!"  
  
Christian heard her last words as she went through the door to the corridor the operating rooms were down. "I love you," he said to himself, because he knew she could not hear him.  
  
An older woman with pinkish blonde, short, curly hair and dressed in an outfit only fit for a country club lounge came walking up to Christian. She put her arms around him.  
  
"My boy," she said as the two embraced, "My beautiful, amazing boy. I'm so happy you're home."  
  
"Get off, Mom, I could have always called Grandmama." *(aww, isn't he sweet? See, there was someone else he could have called. I know, not as big of a deal as I made it.)*  
  
Christian returned his mother's hug with slight reluctance. When they pulled apart he said, "Mom, are you sure about this?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Does Pop know?"  
  
She sighed. "No." Christian nodded and understood. His mother walked him over to a pair of chairs near a table.  
  
"So, what's she like?"  
  
Christian laughed. "Nothing like you."  
  
"Ah, a nonconformist."  
  
"You might say that."  
  
"Is she pretty?"  
  
"Beautiful."  
  
"That's always a plus. What about career?"  
  
"Oh, Mom . . ."  
  
"Unemployed, then."  
  
Christian laughed as his mother continued giving him the third degree about Satine, Adrienne, his future wife.  
  
Meanwhile, Satine lay on a cold metal table, undergoing probably the most important thing that would ever happen in her life . . .  
  
**************************************************************************** *  
  
So, will Satine live or die? Will I ever stop calling her Satine? Will I be evil, or will I be nice? Hehehe, all to come in the next chapter. Does Satine live? Does Satine die? You'll find out next . . . Thanks soooooooooo soooo much to all my reviewers. Celeny, you're the best! Thanks to all the nice stuff everybody's been saying. Here's to hoping I can continue to bring out good stuff. I usually get this far into a story and get writer's block . . . It may be (like J.K. Rowling) a while until I get the next installement out (I am not saying Ms. Rowling has writer's block. She's just torturing her devoted fans -cough-me-cough- by pushing her release date back until possibly NEXT JUNE.)  
  
~Evie 


	10. Coming Home

Christian had ended up pacing the lobby while waiting to hear news of Satine. His mother was arguing with the nurse about an episode of "All My Children" that was playing on the screens around the lobby. Christian was trying very hard to just keep his head clear. Terrible thoughts kept trying to play across his mind, but he wouldn't let them. He wasn't going to turn his life into a soap opera.  
  
"No way," the nurse said, "There's no way. She's not having Donovan's baby, she's having Gregory's."  
  
"I'm telling you, Gregory can't be the father because he's impotent," argued Christian's mother.  
  
"But they do that all the time. They make you think one thing . . ." the phone rang. "Just one second. Hello? . . . . Oh . . . I'll tell them . . . . Right." The nurse hung up the phone and turned to Christian's mother. "Your daughter-in-law just came out of surgery, Julia," she said, "You and your son can go see her, if you want. She's in Recovery 303, first door on your left after you get off the elevator."  
  
Julia thanked the nurse, then went to Christian. "Darling," she said, "Adrienne's out of surgery."  
  
Christian blanched. She was out. What would she look like?  
  
"Are you all right? You just lost all the color in your face. Are you sure you can see her? We can come back later . . ."  
  
Christian just started walking toward the elevators, following the signs that said "Recovery."  
  
He found her room easy enough, pushed the door open, and walked inside.  
  
The curtains had been drawn and all the lights were turned out. The only light in the room was coming through the open doorway. Satine lay on the bed with the sheets pulled up to her underarms, her arms lying above the sheets. She seemed to be asleep. A doctor stood by her bed.  
  
"I'm Dr. White. I'll be keeping track of Adrienne's recovery," he said, shaking hands with Christian. Christian walked over to Satine.  
  
"So that means she will recover, right?"  
  
"Well," the doctor said, "She will recover, but there may be slight . . . continuing damage."  
  
"What kind of damage?"  
  
"Memory loss. Mild memory loss, basically a form of amnesia."  
  
"Amnesia? But people only get that in movies."  
  
"Not exactly. There have been recorded cases of acute amnesia, which is what you see in, ahem, soap operas and such. But mostly, there is only the kind that Miss Adrienne may have. It's still just a possibility."  
  
Christian was worried about having his darling open her eyes and not know him. That all their love was for nothing. Dr. White cleared his throat again. "There's not much to see tonight. I suggest the two of you go home, and we'll call you if there are any changes."  
  
Christian didn't move. He didn't want her to wake up without him there. He told his mother to go home, then made himself a makeshift bed in the chair in the corner. He'd stay all night.  
  
  
  
He was awoken by a soft cry. Like a child waking from a nap. He opened his eyes and looked over to Satine and saw her turning to look at him.  
  
"Darling," he said, rushing to her side, "How do you feel?"  
  
She looked confused for a moment, then said, "I'm fine. Where am I?"  
  
"You're in recovery."  
  
"I know I'm in recovery, I'm talking about where I am in the hospital."  
  
Christian laughed at some of the old humor. "No, darling, you're in the recovery wing of the hospital. You've just had surgery."  
  
"Oh." She smiled at him, putting a hand on his cheek. "I missed you while I was asleep," she said.  
  
Christian sighed mentally in relief. She remembered.  
  
"I love you. I can't remember anything else, but I know I love you, Christian."  
  
He tightened. She couldn't remember anything but him. Maybe it'd be easier this way . . .  
  
"Well, you know you're name is Adrienne, right?"  
  
"Adrienne . . . I seem to remember something else . . ."  
  
"You grew up in New York with your dad, Harold, who ran a club you sang at sometimes."  
  
"And I slept with men for money . . ."  
  
"No," Christian said firmly. He had his chance to give her a new life. He wasn't going to give her back the old one, the one she had wanted to escape from. "No, you didn't. You were an actress. You starred in huge hits at the Club Rouge."  
  
"Yes," she said, accepting, "I remember now. I remember an apartment, with an elephant . . . for a balcony . . ."  
  
"Yeah, that's right."  
  
They continued in this vein for a while, until Satine knew her past, remembered herself and told to her by Christian. She hadn't really lost her memory, she was just coming out of a period of delirium, so she only remembered those things clearest to her *(I know, it sucks, but just ignore that part if you have to)*, like Christian and her love for him. Now she remembered it all.  
  
It was a few days before she could leave the hospital, and very carefully at that. The doctors instructed her that any jolts of any kind could break the mends they had started until a bit later. She agreed to be very careful, and she and Christian left the hospital together driven by Christian's father, Robert.  
  
Christian was too absorbed in holding and being with Satine that he didn't notice they were going someplace completely different from his old home. He asked his father about this when he finally noticed.  
  
"Pop, where are we going?"  
  
"You'll see," said Robert mysteriously. After another ten minutes of driving, they pulled into the drive of an old, huge house, set back on a piece of property covered in huge trees. The place was beautiful in the sunlight, casting shadow in all the right places. Satine held Christian's hand as they stepped out of the car and looked at the huge, beautiful house set in shadow by green trees. Christian asked, "Pop, what's this?"  
  
Robert smiled. "Think of it as dowry. Well, in the reverse. This was your grandfather's house that he built with his own two hands, and he left it to you for when you were ready. I think you're ready." With that, he got in the car and drove away. Satine and Christian walked into their new home.  
  
It was fully furnished. The house looked beautiful. It must have taken forever to clean it up.  
  
"Holy shit, Dad," Christian breathed, looking around. He stopped Satine before she could come inside.  
  
"Isn't the groom supposed to carry the bride across the threshold?" he asked.  
  
"But we're not married yet."  
  
"Think of it as practice," he said, sweeping Satine off the floor into his arms and carrying her into the house . . . their home . . . .  
  
**************************************************************************  
  
Aww, she's ALIVE! I hope I made people happy. I want you to know that I don't plan on going back on myself and killing her later. At least, I don't plan to right now. ;-) I think there may be one or two more chapters, three at the most. I was thinking about doing a sequel. Let me know if you think I should. Maybe not now, but when I'm finished or something. Anyway, thanks everybody, and don't forget to review!  
  
~Evie 


	11. The Perfect Ending

Christian and Satine sat in the living room of their new home. Their home. Christian was looking through a newspaper, and Satine was reading a book on the couch. Suddenly she began to sing quietly.  
  
"I'm finding my way back to sanity again though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there. I take a breath and hold on tight spin around one more time and gracefully fall back to the arms of grace . . ."  
  
Christian joined her in the chorus.  
  
"Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying even if you don't wanna speak tonight, that's all right, all right with me. Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside heaven's door and listen to you breathing. Its where I wanna be, yeah, where I wanna be."  
  
Satine hummed along as Christian sang the next verse.  
  
"I'm looking past the shadows in my mind into the truth, and I'm trying to identify the voices in my head. God wish, won't you let me feel one more time what it feels like to feel and break these calluses off me one more time . . ."  
  
"Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying even if you don't wanna speak tonight that's all right, all right with me. Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside of your door and listen to you breathing its where I wanna be, yeah." They looked up from their respective reading materials and sang to each other, louder now.  
  
"Oh I don't want a thing from you," sang Christian.  
  
"Bet you're tired of me waiting for the scraps to fall off of your table to the ground," answered Satine.  
  
"La da da da... Cause I just wanna be here now . . ." They finished together.  
  
"Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying, even if you don't wanna speak tonight that's all right, all right with me." Christian let Satine have the next lines.  
  
"Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside heaven's door and listen to you breathing. Its where I wanna be, yeah, where I wanna be . . ."  
  
"Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying, even if you don't wanna speak tonight that's all right, all right with me. Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside heaven's door and listen to you breathing."  
  
"Its where I wanna be, yeah," they finished together, "Where I wanna be."  
  
Satine smiled and placed a hand on her stomach. She took Christian's hand in her other one and said, "Darling, when I was in the hospital, the doctor told me something . . ."  
  
"What is it?" Christian asked, suddenly concerned.  
  
"Christian . . ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm pregnant."  
  
Christian was dumbstruck. He couldn't believe it. Satine was pregnant. With his child. He was going to be a father.  
  
"I'm . . . I'm . . . I'm going to be a father?" he stammered.  
  
Satine nodded.  
  
"We're going to have a baby."  
  
Christian's face broke out in a huge smile. "How far along . . .?"  
  
"Don't worry, it's yours," she said, laughing.  
  
They laughed together for a while, then Satine said, "We'll find out whether it's a boy or girl in a few weeks. That is, if you want to know."  
  
Christian said, "Of course."  
  
"Let's go out tonight."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They both went into their bedroom, into the closet that they shared, and found clothes that they had bought together to go out in. Satine looked at the ring on her finger. Christian came and put his arms around her waist, standing behind her with his head on her shoulder.  
  
"It's so beautiful," she breathed.  
  
"Only on your finger," he said.  
  
They kissed, then grabbed jackets and rushed out of the door. Christian stopped her.  
  
"Wait. How are we going to get anywhere? I don't have a car anymore."  
  
Satine smiled. "Your mom told me a little secret. Look in the garage."  
  
Christian opened the garage door, and saw the most gorgeous car he had ever seen sitting there. I note was taped to the windshield.  
  
"'Hey, Chris,'" Christian read aloud, "'Think of this as an early wedding present from an old friend. Hope ya have a great life, you little bugger. Cheers and buffers, Marty and Elaine!' Oh my gosh! I haven't seen them since high school! Marty's an accountant," he told Satine, "And Elaine works for the entertainment industry."  
  
Satine's eyes lit up. "What does she do?"  
  
"Casting agent for Broadway."  
  
"Broadway?!"  
  
Christian smiled at his fiancé. "I'm sure she'd love to meet you."  
  
Satine threw her arms around Christian's neck, then climbed into the silver convertible.  
  
"BMW Z-300," Christian breathed, "The most beautiful car in the world."  
  
"Let's see how it does on the road."  
  
Christian turned the keys in the ignition, and it purred so quietly that you could barely even tell the engine was running. He drove out of the driveway and out onto the open road. Satine turned up the radio, and "Up Where We Belong" was playing.  
  
"Love lift us up where we belong!" she yelled, laughing, "Where the eagles cry, on a mountain high!"  
  
"Love lift us up where we belong!" joined in Christian, "Far from the world we know, up where the clear winds blow!"  
  
They laughed and sang all the way to the restaurant. Christian was happier than he ever had been in his whole life. He was marrying the girl of his dreams, and they were going to have a child together.  
  
"Come what may," he sang quietly later, driving home with Satine's head on his shoulder, making up a song on the spot, "I will love you 'til my dying day."  
  
**************************************************************************** ****  
  
Okay, so I lied. This is the last chapter. Unless, you want me to write a sequel. I won't write one unless I have at least five new reviews and three people tell me that I should write one. So if you want to see one, please tell me. Thanks so much for reading this. I had lots of fun writing it. Sorry that the last two chapters were fluff, I had to write something to finish it. There, see I didn't kill her. I'm nice. Please, please review! Five more, and three people telling me to write a sequel, and I will. There might be a reappearance of Mr. Eivel Duke (a highly underused character, I admit) in it, if there is a sequel, just to let you know . . . . Thanks bunches, guys!  
  
~Evie 


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